Asylum
by Trumpeteer34
Summary: During a visit to Arkham Asylum, Bruce Wayne realizes something is terribly, terribly wrong.
1. Chapter 1

I do not own any of the named characters present. They all belong to DC Comics. This was written purely for fun.

* * *

_asylum: 1. a psychiatric hospital; 2. a shelter_

* * *

The ride to Arkham Asylum always felt surreal when he wasn't driving the Batmobile. Bruce Wayne came here enough as his vigilante secret identity, hauling the escaped convicts back through the revolving doors of the rehabilitation center/prison. Not many people made the drive, aside from cops and the occasional reporter for a story.

This wasn't a business trip.

The sleek Lamborghini rounded the final curve before slowing to a stop at the massive iron gates. Bruce leaned out of the window and pressed the intercom button on a small speaker next to the entrance. He waited, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel and allowing his eyes to roll over the well-kept grounds. If one wasn't from Gotham and hadn't heard the horror stories of this building, one would think this was a legitimate place where the criminally insane would get the help they needed. Gothamites knew better. They were all aware of just whom this building housed.

Bruce Wayne knew better, too. No one else but the inhabitants of Wayne Manor knew that Bruce often perused the facility as Batman, making sure his charitable donations were being used properly. He was never happy with what he saw, but Bruce Wayne could never say anything.

The speaker crackled to life. "Name?" a bored voice sounded.

"Good evening!" Bruce said in a cheerful tone, playing up the act. "This is Bruce Wayne. I called a little earlier."

"Oh! Mr. Wayne!" The speaker perked up immediately. "I'll open the gates. Come on through."

"Thanks a bunch!" One could hear the smile in his words. As soon as the speaker shut off, Bruce returned his eyes to the building. He tried to push his previous thoughts from his head. This was _not_ a trip for Batman, he kept reminding himself. He'd been here before as Bruce Wayne, albeit not for a while. He thought about the reason why he was here today and felt a small smile twist his lips.

The gates creaked as the mechanisms in the hinges came alive. They swung open slowly and closed immediately after he had pulled his car through. He drove the rest of the way up the hill and parked the expensive vehicle.

As he got out of the Lamborghini, a security officer emerged from the building. The millionaire waved and offered a friendly smile. "Hello!" he called.

The guard's greeting could never match the caliber of friendliness, nor did he try. "Welcome to Arkham, Mr. Wayne," he said in a gruff voice. "Dr. Leland offers her apologies for not being able to greet you personally."

"I'm sure the doctor is very busy," Bruce replied as he approached the armed man. "I'm not coming at a bad time, am I?"

The look on the guard's face spoke volumes to the undercover detective. "Visiting hours are normally over by now, but Dr. Arkham has made an exception for you," he answered.

"Well, that's awfully nice of him." Oh, the things million dollar donations could do for someone.

The guard grumbled something under his breath and turned, waving the guest to follow. "I'll escort you to your room."

"Thank you, sir," Bruce said, feigning ignorance to the guard's attitude.

After the normal protocol, which included the rehearsed speech of safety procedures and signing in at the receptionist's desk (after identification was checked), the two approached the locked set of double doors into the depths of Arkham Asylum. As soon as the doors opened, the sounds of screams, deranged laughter, and hysterical sobbing enveloped them.

Bruce jumped slightly, looking subtly alarmed. He knew that the volume was loud, but he never remembered it being _that_ loud…

…and wild.

When the guard glanced back at him, he offered a sheepish and nervous grin. "Sorry…it always catches me off guard," he said.

The guard said nothing, but he looked like he understood perfectly what Bruce had meant. He turned back around and led the playboy deeper into the asylum. No other words were shared between the pair on their trip. Bruce took the opportunity to study his surroundings.

What he saw did not make him happy. Even with his large donations, the building was still drastically understaffed. He had noticed in his last few exploits as Batman a few new faces, but that was about it. They hadn't been able to hire more doctors; just guards and orderlies.

They came to a stop outside a door. "You'll be allowed ten minutes with the inmate," the security officer said. "I'll be out here if you need me or if he gets out of control."

"I'm sure he'll be fine, but thank you," Bruce said, flashing another smile.

The guard unlocked the door and stepped aside for the visitor to enter. "The time will start when he sits down. He'll be here momentarily."

"Thank you."

With that, the guard closed the door and locked it (for security purposes, of course). Bruce turned away from the only exit and looked at the room he was now in. It consisted of two chairs, a counter between those two chairs, and a sheet of three-inch bullet-proof Plexiglas that cut the room in two. The area of the glass between the two chairs was perforated, giving the glass a look akin to a bank teller's window. The fluorescent lighting above flickered, constantly making the colors of the walls bounce back and forth from white to grey.

Bruce finally sat down at the counter and waited patiently.

A few minutes passed before the door on the opposite side of the room opened. Bruce sat up and smiled warmly when the inmate was brought into the room with his guard entourage. "Hello, Harvey."

Harvey Dent, now known to many as the criminal Two-Face, turned at the sound of his name. Even through the thick glass separating them, Bruce could see his friend's eyes (both of them!) light up at the sight of him.

"Bruce," Harvey said, no trace of his other personality's growl in his voice, "how are you?"

The guards finished removing the handcuffs from the inmate's mismatched wrists. They waiting until Dent was seated across from Bruce before they said "ten minutes" and left.

"It's been a while," Dent said, "how have you been?"

Bruce smiled apologetically. "I know… The office has been particularly busy." He was able to look the ex-district attorney in the eye, something he had had trouble with during his very first visit. It was still jarring to see his long-time friend like this, horribly scarred and locked up with the very criminals he helped get put in here. What was even more jarring was being able to laugh and talk with him as Bruce Wayne, where he had had to fight and ultimately bring him back to this hell as Batman. He treasured the visitations he was granted with Harvey, even the visits where he had talked with Two-Face, who would curse both him and Harvey.

This was a Harvey Dent day.

…but something seemed off…

Sure, it was really Harvey Dent he was sitting in front of; he had dealt with Two-Face enough times as both Batman and Bruce to be able to tell the difference, but there was something different about him today. He couldn't put his finger on it.

He finally continued, hoping time would provide an answer. "I was over in England this past week, Japan the week before that." He shrugged. "The glamorous life of the business owner."

"'Business before pleasure,' I can respect that," Harvey said half-jokingly, a small grin appearing on the unscarred side of his face, "although I wasn't blaming you for anything."

Bruce laughed. "I know, I know, but I still feel bad."

"Don't," Harvey replied, the smirk fading. "I'd feel bad if you neglected your business to come visit me here."

He seemed much more subdued than normal…his body language screamed exhaustion. He sounded weary; lethargic, almost. Was he not sleeping at night? His eyes continued to sweep over the former district attorney.

They came to a stop on his hands, which trembled atop the counter.

Bruce had had enough. "Harvey, are you okay?"

The eyebrow on his unscarred side raised in a questioning manner. Harvey followed Bruce's gaze to his hands.

"You seem really tired," Bruce continued in a concerned tone as Harvey folded his hands on the counter in an attempt to stop the shaking. "Is everything okay?"

Harvey sighed, his eyes shifting from his hands to something else. "I guess I'm just stressed. Things have been a little crazy…_er_ here lately."

Bruce instantly looked worried. "What's going on, Harv?"

The Arkham inmate kept his eyes off of his friend for a long moment as he thought, carefully choosing his words. In the few seconds that passed before he finally looked back up at Bruce, a subtle appearance of anger made itself present. "A lot of the people here are relapsing," he answered at long last. His irritated gaze lowered, a knowing look in his contrasting eyes. "…the doctors don't know what's going on," he added as an afterthought.

The disguised vigilante studied his friend closely. "And you do?" he asked.

His friend bristled and his hands unfolded, the intensity of the shaking having increased. His eyes slowly rose to meet Bruce's stare, a malicious glint in them. _**"Of course I do…"**_ Two-Face rasped.

The inmate twitched and quickly shut his eyes. When he opened his eyes back up, he looked mildly startled. Bruce recognized that Harvey was back in control, who sighed and ran a hand down the unscarred half of his face.

"I've seen it enough times to know," Harvey answered. Another sigh escaped from him as he looked off. "And boy, are the repercussions stressful."

"Aren't you on anti-anxiety medicine?" Bruce inquired carefully, not wanting to provoke the other personality that was lurking just below the surface. He went rigid when all he received as a response was a mirthless chuckle. "Harvey…?"

Harvey continued to look away before his eyes returned to his visitor. "Let's just say I'm fairly certain my vitamin C levels are healthy."

A silence passed between them. Bruce gaped at his friend with a dumbfounded look for a long moment before his expression quickly transformed into anger. "Someone's _tampering_ with the medications?"

Before Harvey could reply, a shrill wail from the overhead alarm systems began to howl. Bruce jumped to his feet, a reaction that had become automatic in his years as the Caped Crusader. The inmate merely sighed and reached into his pocket for his beloved double-headed coin. "Can't say I didn't see this coming…" he said with disengaged interest.

"A breakout?" Bruce heard himself ask, his eyes still upturned. He heard a metallic _ching _and looked back over at his friend in time to see him catch his coin.

Harvey looked down at which face of the coin was upright. "Riot," he replied as he pocketed the coin. "The breakout alarm should sound any—"

The frequency in the wail shot up an octave.

A single-handed gesture toward the ceiling was made by the dichotomy sitting on the other side of the glass. "_Now_ there's been a breakout." His eyes traveled back to his long-time friend at long last. "You'd better sit down, Bruce. We'll be here for some time." As the disguised vigilante reluctantly sat back down, Harvey managed a half-hearted grin. "I guess we'll have more than ten minutes to chat…"

"You don't seem all that surprised," Bruce pointed out. In his mind, he was letting loose a string of profanities at his predicament. All hell was breaking loose on the other side of that door, and he could do nothing…not as Bruce Wayne. It'd be a bit difficult to play Batman in a three-piece suit. He did see a silver lining in that he could find out more about what was going on. Besides, Robin could help wrangle up the criminals on his own. Still, he was angry.

Harvey shrugged, unaware of the turmoil taking place in the millionaire's head. "I'm just surprised it didn't happen sooner," he replied.

Bruce's anger doubled when he recalled the conversation they had been having before the sirens had started. "Someone is giving you vitamin C tablets instead of your medication?" he demanded.

The former district attorney nodded. "You'd think they'd be smarter and choose a vitamin with a less distinct taste," he mused. His eyes fell to his shaking hands again. "The sudden stop of our regular medicines has had some _really_ bad effects on some of the people here."

The sirens outside the room were hardly noticed by either of them now. Bruce wasn't entirely sure if he wanted to hear of some of these effects, but he knew he needed to know. "What kinds of effects?" he asked nervously.

Harvey's eyes returned to Bruce's. "Where do I begin…? Let's see… The Scarecrow has become increasingly volatile; they've had to throw him in solitary a few times now. A lot of the bipolar people have gone to either extreme. The Joker…" he trailed off and made a face, "…eh, he's about the same. Harley is even more hyperactive than before, much to Ivy's dismay. Poison Ivy herself has become much, _much_ more irritable, to the point of attacking anyone who looks at her the wrong way. The Mad Hatter…oh, the Hatter…he's so far gone. No one can reach him in his state of psychotic mania… And that's just to list a few."

Bruce stared at Dent in horror. He finally found his voice to speak up. "…they're not just giving you guys vitamins…"

"No," Harvey said forlornly. "Whatever they have me on now is zapping away my energy. I'd hate to think of what other effects people are going through right now…"

Bruce watched Harvey carefully, his eyes studying his form intensely. "Aside from that, though," he said cautiously, "you seem okay."

Harvey shrugged again. "Therapy is the treatment of choice for multiples, our doctor tells us. We've only been getting anti-anxiety medicine." He eyed his shaking hands once more. "…or we were." Another sigh escaped from him and he slumped minutely in his seat. "The fact is that the people who really ought to be on medication suddenly aren't. I don't need to be a doctor to know that that is _very_ bad."

The undercover detective tumbled everything he had heard in his mind for a few seconds. "Why haven't the doctors said anything?" he asked.

"They don't know," Harvey answered, a hint of distaste entering his voice. "They just see the symptoms and think the dosages are too low."

Bruce suddenly looked furious. "So they order more pills for whoever is taking them to steal, and everyone here gets worse," he growled.

"Bingo," Harvey said, emphasizing the word with a small gesture with his index finger.

"That's illegal!" Bruce exclaimed.

"You bet it is."

"Why haven't any of the patients said anything?"

Harvey offered a helpless gesture with his shoulders. "Nearly all of them are too far gone to realize anything, let alone _say_ anything."

"You're not," Bruce said fiercely, staring at his friend on the other side of the glass. "Why haven't _you_ said anything?"

The mismatched man returned Bruce's stare for a long silent moment. He gave the millionaire a look of hopeless disbelief, looking deeply afflicted. "I have," he said, his voice quiet and genuinely troubled. "Believe me, I have. Do you think I enjoy being the only one with a firm enough grasp of sanity to watch everyone else lose theirs? I've _tried_." His narrative had increased in zeal as he talked; he sounded anxious and honestly concerned for the welfare of his fellow inmates. "No one will listen."

Bruce was stunned. Things were obviously much worse than what Harvey was telling him… "Why not?" he asked, despite himself.

The stare took on a look of enraged despair. "Who's going to listen to a nut like me?"

"A guy like me."

When Harvey gave him a startled and slightly nervous look, Bruce leaned forward on the counter. "If there is an escape going on right now, the police will investigate. I'm here now, and I can easily suspect something is terribly wrong with this facility. I donate a good deal of money to Arkham, and I do _not_ like what I see. I could easily call for an investigation, and someone _will _find out." The look on Harvey's face didn't disappear, so he added "and I don't have to mention anything about you telling me any of this."

Harvey's features relaxed, but he still looked surprised. "Well, I…I guess that could work," he finally said after a long silence. "If the DA doesn't already suspect something, then that could work." He looked off, his mind running with the proposition. "I mean, it wouldn't be the first time in Gotham where someone was stealing medicine from a facility that is supposed to be supplying them. Why, I dealt with cases like this myself when I was still DA—" He looked back up at Bruce "—not at Arkham, but at places like hospitals, nursing homes…" he trailed off.

Bruce continued to watch Harvey talk to himself for a moment longer, a bit relieved to see some of the former district attorney return to his person. "I want to help in any way I can, Harv." When Harvey returned his focus to him, he proceeded. "Criminals or not, what they are doing here is _wrong_—"

_**THUD**_

The two men exchanged curious looks before another _**THUD**_ sounded against the door to Bruce's half of the room. They turned and gazed at the door in question, one looking worried and the other looking bored.

With a final _**THUD**_, the door came crashing in, bringing with it a very large inmate. With him came the chaotic sounds from the hall behind him. The unknown inmate studied Bruce Wayne for a moment and grinned maliciously.

Bruce immediately stood up and faced the man when he took an aggressive step forward.

"Don't you touch him," came Harvey's calm and authoritative voice.

The inmate looked over at the Rogue on the other side of the glass, giving him a hard stare. "D'you have any idea who this is? We could hold 'im for ransom—"

The man's words caught in this throat when Harvey straightened and leaned forward slightly on the table. Darkness entered the Rogue's expression. He glared hard at the prisoner.

"For the _**second**_ time," he growled, his voice a mixture between his own and Two-Face's, "don't touch him."

When the inmate didn't back off, Two-Face pulled his coin from his pocket. "_**I'd think **__**twice**__** before crossin' me today, boy**_," Two-Face snarled. He held up the coin, the scarred side out for the behemoth of a man to see. "_**Wanna take your chances against **__**me**__**?**_"

A tremble coursed through the unnamed inmate and he immediately backed off. He shook his head and held his hands up to show he was defenseless.

Two-Face cocked his head slightly in a twitch. "_**I knew you'd have **__**second**__** thoughts**_," he rasped. He gestured over his shoulder with a scarred thumb at the locked door. "_**Now break down this door.**_"

The inmate nodded hurriedly to Two-Face before he shot Bruce a worried look. He practically sprinted from the room to complete his task.

Bruce stared after the man for a long moment before glancing over at Two-Face. It was incredible just how much power and authority Harvey Dent and Two-Face still showed, even in a place like this. He noted that Harvey had regained control, who had slumped in his seat and was holding his head. He looked completely drained…

Harvey rose to his feet and gazed at his friend. "I'll walk you out of here," he said tiredly. He pointed at Bruce's empty doorframe.

A _**THUMP **_sounded against Harvey's door.

"Keep your eyes on the doorway," Dent advised.

Bruce nodded and returned his focus to the doorway as Harvey's door crashed in. He heard the inmate scramble away after breaking down the door. _'Smart move,'_ Bruce thought to himself grimly. He nodded again when Harvey said he was coming over to get him. His eyes remained fixed on the doorway, watching the chaos outside…inmates running here and there. Laughter and vicious yells spilled in from beyond.

He jumped slightly when Harvey appeared calmly in the doorway. "Let's get you out of here," Harvey said.

After putting on a look of fright, Bruce cautiously stepped out into the hall next to his friend. He could feel himself pale, despite all of the grisly things he had seen as Batman.

Bloodied footprints decorated the linoleum floor while handprints of crimson colored the walls. This was nothing compared to what he knew was coming next; they were going to have to head into the heart of the madness. He knew the body count would increase exponentially there. A few inmates ran by, their hands and their light blue uniforms bloodied.

Bruce jumped again when Harvey put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Look straight ahead and do not react to anything," he warned. "Let's go."

The two stepped off, walking straight into the source of the chaos.

They turned the corner and began down a long corridor toward the front of the building. As they were walking, Bruce noticed what looked like words scrawled in blood upon one of the walls in his peripheral. He looked at the words long enough to read them:

_Even a Dummy could figure this_

_out._

Bruce's eyes narrowed at the words before he returned his focus to the hall before them. The Riddler had escaped.

The closer they got to the exit, the more graphic the scene became. Before long, Bruce was trying to spot white coloring on the crimson walls. More than once he nearly tripped over some sorry soul who had lost in the battle to contain madness within these walls. For the most part, he kept his eyes forward and his expression neutral. Beneath the surface, he could feel the need to bring an end to this chaos clawing at him, begging for release. He knew he couldn't, and with a heavy heart, he tried to swallow the feeling and concentrate on not being Batman during a massive Arkham breakout.

Several inmates stopped whatever it was they were doing to look at Two-Face and his guest. Some had the nerve to jump in their way and scare the civilian caught in the insanity. Harvey would push by them, sometimes forcefully, and they'd return to what they had been doing previously as if nothing had happened. For the most part, however, the calamity seemed to just part down the middle, allowing them to walk through relatively freely.

They finally reached the front doors. Bruce noticed with deathly seriousness the spatter of blood on the receptionist's desk and on the wall behind the now vacant chair. Despite the grave atmosphere, the shrill screams and laughter that bombarded his ears, he couldn't help think that the staff of Arkham didn't have this coming. They were the ones who were supposed to be in charge of rehabilitating these criminally insane people.

And they had been doing just the opposite. Right under his nose.

His eyes hardened on the blood spatter on the desk, on the visitor's log where his name was neatly spelled. This had to stop.

"Well," Harvey said casually, breaking the concealed Caped Crusader from his thoughts, "thanks for the visit. Sorry it had to end like this." He gestured uninterestedly around the lobby.

"Thanks for having me," Bruce said uneasily. How they could be having a civil conversation in this environment was baffling. "I'll see to it that something is done," he said, lowering his voice.

The pair ducked when a flower vase flew overhead and shattered against the wall.

Harvey gave his friend a half-hopeful smile. "Thank you. Thank you for listening." He held out his unscarred hand.

Bruce slipped his hand into Harvey's and the two shook hands. "That's what friends are for," he said, a small smile managing to appear on his lips.

The Rogue squeezed the hand in his for a moment before he let go. "You'd better get out of here. The cops should be here any minute now. Get somewhere safe."

"You're not leaving?" Bruce asked, unable to keep the inquiry to himself.

Harvey simply smiled and offered a shrug. "Someone needs to stay behind and keep an eye on everyone." He took a step back and began to turn. "Besides…" He glanced over his shoulder, a glint in his eye. "_**…I lost the coin toss.**_"

Two-Face walked back into the depths of Arkham, leaving a bewildered Bruce Wayne in his wake.

* * *

A/N: So, this is a new idea I had for a multi-chapter fic. I'll only continue it if people are interested in seeing what happens next. Be warned, though, what I have in mind will not be a lighthearted romp. This is going to be dark.

This is my first time writing Harvey Dent and Two-Face, my all-time favorite villain (Jervis is a VERY close second). I hope I did him justice, considering the circumstances. And I love writing for Bruce Wayne when he's being his naive and cheerful self. Hee hee.

Well, if you guys are interested in seeing what happens, let me know. I'm working on some other things on top of this. Chapter 7 of "Madness" is in the works. I plan on rewriting "But a Dream." I have a few drabbles in the works for the 100 Theme Challenge on dA. It's just school is keeping me INSANELY busy. I'm surprised I wrote this as quickly as I did.

Thank you for reading, and feedback is always welcome!


	2. Chapter 2

I do not own any of the named characters present. They all belong to DC Comics. This was written purely for fun.

* * *

The light was fading fast. As the daylight began to slip into darkness, the grassy lawn and cinder block walls of Arkham Asylum became covered with the flashing of red and blue lights. The high iron gates were open, but the road was blockaded by several cop vans. Beyond the blockade were the news vans, crowding the fence to get a shot of the infamous structure. Further up the drive was the congregation of emergency vehicles; fire trucks, ambulances, and marked and unmarked police cars, galore.

The scent of blood mingled with the fresh air. A gentle breeze was silently thanked whenever it helped to dissipate the grim perfume of death.

Amidst the stench were the frantic and chaotic sounds of orders being shouted into phones or radio transmitters. These were at times drowned out by the agonized screams of the people who were lucky (or unlucky) enough to survive the breakout. These screams were few and far between. Many of the people who worked in the asylum left it in body bags. These bags were lined up alongside the numerous ambulances.

It was a massacre.

Robin remained where he was crouched, looking down on the aftermath with a heavy feeling in his stomach. The sorts of scenes that involved Arkham were never pretty, but they never came close to what he was looking at now. This…this was something else entirely.

The young man forced his concealed eyes away from the body bags and studied the line of emergency vehicles. They came to a stop on the figure of a man leaning against one of the ambulances, his arms crossed over his chest and merely observing the madness.

A surge of relief went through the vigilante's body. It was Bruce Wayne. He felt his spirits lift considerably; Bruce made it safely out of the asylum.

Robin nimbly reached the ground and stealthily approached the line of ambulances.

The undisguised Batman took in the scene with a deathly serious look etched on his face. He was finally alone; when the Gotham City Police Department arrived, they had found Mr. Wayne a little worse for wear. The EMTs checked him over for injuries probably a dozen times as the cops entered the building. They were baffled by his lack of wounds, but had very little time to think on it as police officers began dragging out victims of the breakout.

They had no idea that he had been actively trying to prevent as many of the escapees from leaving the grounds. He managed to stop a fair amount of them without the use of his utility belt. He knew the police would never believe any of the inmates if they told them that Bruce Wayne, the millionaire bachelor, had stopped them from escaping.

He hadn't seen any of the Rogues during his efforts, however.

He perked up slightly when he heard someone quietly approaching. "What kept you?" Bruce asked in a low voice without turning.

"Hello to you too," Robin replied just as quietly. He kept himself close to the back of the ambulance, away from prying eyes. "I was taking my last final exam, the one I told you about this morning." When Bruce didn't make a humorless remark, the young man continued. "I rushed over from Gotham University as soon as I got Alfred's messages. He's really worried, y'know… I'm glad you're okay. How'd you get out?"

Bruce's face hardened slightly and his eyes narrowed on the entrance to the asylum, where a pair of EMTs, each wearing gas masks, were carrying out another body bag. "Harvey walked me out," he replied. By the silence he received, he imagined the surprised look on his partner's face. "He was mostly himself today. I think he's getting better."

"Wish we could say the same for the rest of them," Robin commented grimly. He noticed the darkening of the disguised detective's expression.

"Someone is tampering with the medications," Bruce practically growled. "It's hardly a wonder this happened."

"Tampering with the medications?" Robin repeated cautiously.

Bruce offered a single nod. "Harvey told me, and I believe him." He turned and gave the brightly clothed vigilante a hard look. "Bruce Wayne will be hiring an investigator to look into it. Until then, you and I can't say or do anything about that."

Robin nodded. He glanced around at the other cars for a moment before a confused look appeared on his face. "How'd you get here?"

"I drove," Bruce replied dryly.

Robin looked around for an expensive looking car. He sighed. "So some of the inmates are escaping by car?"

"No," Bruce replied. When Robin gave him a curious look, Bruce pointed to a tree on the far side of the lawn. The Lamborghini sat in a crumbled heap, part of its front bumper wrapped around the trunk of the tree.

Robin stared at the car for a moment longer before he cleared his throat. "Well, um…at least they are on foot."

"For now," Bruce added. He looked from the car to his partner. "They gassed the building maybe fifteen minutes ago. It should be nearly clear to enter. Go to the left wing of the area, toward where the visitation rooms are. You'll find a riddle written in blood on one of the walls."

Robin groaned. "The Riddler got out?"

Before Bruce could reply, he noticed the hulking figure of one of the cops approaching them. His face softened and he put on an expression of worry.

As Bruce turned to look back at the building, Harvey Bullock approached the ambulance. "So where's the Bat?" he asked Robin in a gruff voice, fiddling with the toothpick in his mouth.

Robin turned to the detective. "He's out rounding up as many of the escaped convicts as he can, Detective," he replied smoothly. "Care to tell me just what happened?"

"Yeah," Bullock answered coldly, "a couple handfuls of wackos escaped and slaughtered anyone standin' in their way."

A sharp call of the detective's name rang through the air. The oversized man in his wrinkled trench coat turned his back on the costumed vigilante and millionaire as he was called away.

As soon as Bullock was out of earshot, Bruce turned back to Robin. "Solve the riddle," he said in a voice hardly above a whisper. "I'll meet up with you when I can. Gordon insisted that I stay here until he can get a statement. An officer is supposed to be driving me back to the manor here pretty soon."

Robin glanced over at Arkham, a look of apprehension appearing in his eyes.

"The first part of the riddle is simple enough," Bruce reassured his partner. "I know you can do it. Contact me when you solve it, and I'll meet up with you."

The young vigilante was still for a moment before he offered a determined nod. "You got it. I'll see you soon."

With that, Robin stepped away from the undercover Batman and toward Arkham Asylum.

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the delay, folks. I was waiting on writing this until after I solved the Riddler's riddle.

Question for you guys: Do you want the entire Riddler escapade in one chapter, or do you want it split up by riddles? It'll take longer to write if it's all together.

First time writing Robin in any of my fanfictions... He'll be interesting, to say the least.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this relatively short chapter. I wanted to get the police and Robin on the scene before beginning the wild goose chase across Gotham. Feedback is always welcome, and thank you for reading.


	3. Chapter 3

I do not own any of the named characters present. They all belong to DC Comics. This was written purely for fun.

* * *

Arkham Asylum looked like a warzone. The ground was sticky with blood, its metallic fragrance wafting through the air. The halls were congested with police and medical personnel. The shouting of orders and the rustling of medical bags rang through the air, replacing the usual crazed shouts of Arkham's inhabitants. They, or those who didn't escape, were all knocked out, as they would be for at least another two hours, thanks to the knockout gas bomb the police had fired upon arriving on the scene.

The commotion around the young vigilante was lost upon him as he focused all of his concentration on the words before him:

_Even a Dummy could figure this_

_out._

Robin continued to stare at the riddle scrawled in blood across the white asylum wall. He had written the puzzle down on a notepad exactly as he saw it. The first part to solving this was obvious enough, almost insultingly easy. It certainly wasn't the Riddler's MO to leave such a glaring clue, but considering the short amount of time to come up with a riddle to lead him to where the real puzzle was, the Riddler must have been rushed in coming up with this.

"Even a Dummy…"

Robin turned and gazed to his left at Commissioner Gordon, who had snuck up behind him. The older man's eyes behind his glasses were locked in a firm glare on the riddle on the wall.

"How bad are the numbers, Commissioner?" Robin hesitated to ask.

Jim Gordon's face darkened momentarily, a grim mask appearing. "They aren't good," he replied.

Robin gave a firm nod and looked back to the riddle as Gordon sighed and shoved his hands into the pockets of his tan overcoat. "So…" the Police Commissioner began, "this seems pretty simple."

"The Riddler only had a few minutes to write this and get out," Robin explained. He glanced back over at the man next to him. "I'm sure the next part will be more of a challenge."

The Commissioner gave a throaty noise of agreement, but said nothing. He turned and began walking toward where the Rogues were imprisoned, Robin close behind him.

The walk through the asylum was positively ghastly. Nearly all of the bodies had been bagged and carried out onto the lawn next to the procession of ambulances, but the blood remained. The terrible crimson stains were everywhere; on the floor, on the walls… Robin had even found a good amount of it on the ceilings in what looked to be arterial spray. He had seen some pretty grizzly things in his time as Batman's partner, but _never_ anything to this magnitude. This…this looked like the demon spawn of horror movies and nightmares.

As they passed through what was supposed to be a high security metal door, Commissioner Gordon and Robin entered the Rogue Gallery. Robin never liked coming back here, but today it was quiet. Whether it was from the effects of the knockout gas or because they all escaped, Robin wasn't sure. Nevertheless, he didn't let his discomfort appear on his face or in any of his mannerisms.

Up ahead was a detective talking to one of the orderlies who miraculously survived. The orderly obviously wasn't very thankful for his timely aliveness, though, for he was talking in a low, vicious voice to the detective, demanding to know what was being done. The detective was doing his best to keep the orderly calm while still trying to get some information out of him.

The detective gazed at the two approaching men. "The cell that you requested has been unlocked, Commissioner," he said, interrupting the orderly's argument and earning a heated glare.

Robin and Gordon stepped past these two without a second glance, the Commissioner nodding in thanks. They walked by a number of cells with name cards displaying some of the most feared names in Gotham. Robin cringed inwardly when he saw most of these cells were empty.

They stopped in front of the cell belonging to The Ventriloquist, Arnold Wesker. Wesker was one of the few Rogues that didn't escape, nor did he seem to even leave his cell. The older man was lying on his back on his cot, unconscious. Scarface, the ventriloquist dummy and darker personality of Wesker, was propped up against the wall, staring out at the hall with lifeless glass eyes.

Robin stared at Wesker for a lingering moment, honestly surprised to see him. His cell was the first part of the asylum that looked perfectly normal. "Did he not try to escape?" he thought aloud.

The orderly looked past the detective to the young vigilante. "The Ventriloquist has been sick," he called down the hall.

Robin and the Commissioner looked to the asylum worker. "Sick?" Gordon repeated.

"Yeah," the orderly replied with a careless shrug. "There's been a bug going around the inmates."

As the detective recaptured the orderly's attention, Robin gazed back at Wesker. _'So they've been receiving the wrong medication __**and**__ getting sick?' _he thought to himself. _'No wonder they revolted.'_ While he was thinking all of this, he and the Commissioner stepped into the cell.

Robin finally allowed his eyes to leave the older man lying unconscious in his cot and go to Scarface. A quick search provided no second riddle. Another analysis of the cell proved just as fruitless.

"I'm not seeing a second riddle," Gordon said unsurely.

The vigilante's eyes darted around the cell, searching for something, _anything, _that could possibly be another puzzle. When he spied nothing, he pulled the notepad from his utility belt and studied the riddle scribed across one of the pages. "Even a Dummy…" he recited softly, "…could figure this out."

His eyes slowly rose from the paper and he looked off, allowing the words to tumble through his mind afresh. "…out," he said again.

Without another word, the young vigilante left the cell and returned to the hall. Gordon watched him momentarily before following suit.

Robin began to study the hall around Wesker's cell. His eyes ran over the nameplate, which read:

**WESKER**

** VENTRILOQUIST**

His eyes moved around the glass edge of the window, moving to the metal door that served as the cell's only entrance and exit.

Nothing.

With a frown of deep contemplation, Robin turned and gazed at the cell directly behind him. He let out a sharp laugh.

Gordon turned to give the vigilante a stern look, but froze when he saw Robin moving toward the cell behind him.

Robin walked straight up to the nameplate before gazing back at the Commissioner. "Coincidence?" he asked, sounding almost like he was enjoying himself.

Before Gordon could say anything to address the young man's demeanor, his eyes came to a rest on the nameplate. "_Nygma?"_

Robin grinned for a moment before he turned back to the orderly down the hall. "Excuse me!" he called.

The orderly and detective turned, the latter looking rather peeved at being interrupted twice now.

"Can you open this cell?" Robin pointed to the Riddler's door.

The orderly turned and looked at the detective, almost looking mockingly like he was requesting permission. He walked by the officer and approached the Commissioner and vigilante. He silently unlocked the door. "Anything _else_?" he asked in a low, irritated voice.

"Yeah," the detective called, "how about the rest of that interview?"

Robin and Gordon entered Edward Nygma's empty cell as the orderly whirled around to address the man. The view of Wesker's cell was more obstructed from inside the Riddler's cell, but maybe those limits of sight would serve as some clue.

The vigilante looked down at the notepad still in his hand and studied the riddle again.

_Even a Dummy could figure this_

_out._

Robin could feel Commissioner Gordon hovering over his shoulder, staring down at the riddle. They both looked back up at the cell across from them.

Gordon's shoulders slumped. "Nothing," he murmured.

"Maybe…" Robin gazed around his surroundings, not sure what he was looking for. His eyes came to a halt on the cot, or rather the slight indent in the mattress. "…maybe if we change our perspective…"

With wary eyes, Gordon watched Robin sit tentatively on the mattress. He joined the vigilante on the right side of the room and stepped behind him, leaning down enough to where he was at eye level with the Boy Wonder.

Robin stared across the cell, past the thick sheet of glass, beyond the hall, and into the cell of the Ventriloquist. He looked around for a moment, but nothing jumped out to his trained eye. He began studying the perimeter around Wesker's cell and—

His eyes came to a halt on the nameplate to the right, or what he could see of it; the wall of the Riddler's cell blocked out some of it. All he saw now was

** W**

**VENT**

"West…" Robin said slowly, his eyes trained on the 'W' on the nameplate. His eyes dropped to the second line to the word 'VENT.'

"Do you think the answer is some sort of address?" Gordon asked quietly, his eyes shifting downward only briefly to glance at the vigilante.

Robin didn't answer. He continued to stare at the nameplate for a moment longer before he looked back at the cell beyond the glass.

His eyebrows twitched minutely. _The glass._ Perhaps there was a clue on it. A quick search shot down the idea, but before it left him, his noticed a reflection of the fluorescent lighting fixtures in the hall. There were two lines of reflected light.

Robin's eyes widened slightly and his eyes shot back down to the riddle. Two lines… The word "out" was alone in that second line.

The young vigilante's eyes returned to the reflections of the lighting fixtures, focusing on the second line. Each end of the reflection ended right where the top left and right corners of Wesker's cell were.

"The _corner_ of West…something, perhaps?" Robin voiced quietly, his mind racing. He returned his focus to the word 'VENT' on the nameplate. "What are some other words for 'vent'?"

The two began to bounce synonyms off each other, hoping one word would lead to an answer.

"Outlet."

"Exit."

"Duct."

"Avenu—"

They shared a brief look. "Avenue…" Robin breathed.

The Commissioner gazed back out at the Ventriloquist's cell, his mind flying as fast as Robin's. "Okay, so the corner of West blank Avenue…"

Now to figure out that blank…

They looked at each other again, both drawing blanks on a possible answer. "Maybe we should look at a map," Gordon sighed.

Before Robin could respond, he finally took notice of the rising voices outside the cell. He glanced over in the direction of the heated argument, becoming mildly annoyed himself that his train of thought had derailed.

He was about to get up and ask for a little bit of silence when the detective's voice finally rang out. "_Look_ sir, I'm aware of what you've been through, but don't vent to me about it!"

As the argument continued on, Robin sat motionless, one word from the detective's outburst ringing in his head. "…vent…" he breathed.

Gordon glanced down at him, a look of sudden realization written clear as day across his face. "Now, what are some other words for the _verb_ 'vent'?"

"Vocalize."

"Release."

"Express."

"Declare—"

Robin jumped up from the cot. "That's it!" He turned and gave Gordon an excited look. "I know where to go."

As Robin practically flew out of the cell to leave the asylum, Gordon called out after him. "Wait! What's the address?"

Robin turned completely around, but walked backwards toward the block's exit. "The corner of West Declaration Avenue," he stated confidently.

"Declaration Avenue?" Gordon repeated quietly to himself. He perked up, realizing that was indeed the correct address. "Why, that's close to the _Express_way!"

Robin had reached the door. He shot the Commissioner a grin. "And right next to an _outlet_ mall." He offered a wave. "Batman and I are on it. We'll meet up with you soon."

Before Commissioner Gordon could reply, the young vigilante was off.

* * *

A/N: I apologize for my tardiness in getting this updated. I'm on Spring Break, so I've finally had some time to write.

The format of the Ventriloquist's nameplate won't hold up on here. The 'W' is supposed to be right above the 'T' in 'VENT'. I've tried fixing it, and I have failed.

The rating on this bad boy is going to go up two chapters from now...just a heads up.

Thank you for reading, and feedback is always welcome!


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